Fallen Birds and Broken Words
by Corky the Quirk
Summary: Kid Blink is sent to make peace with disgruntled West Side, but when he ends up being taken captive, everything changes.
1. Captive

**Author's Note:** So, I had taken a break from Newsies fiction, mainly due to writer's block, but, now I'm back, and honestly, I have no idea where this story is going to go, the beginning just sort of popped into my head and I decided to go with it. I hope you enjoy :)

**Disclaimer:** Any newsie from Disney's Newsies, is not mine...the rest, however, are :)

* * *

Lighting up a cigarette, Crow surveyed the streets of West Side from the roof of the lodging House. In the distance the figure of a young man approached the city, heading straight for the Newsboys' humble abode. Calmly, Crow exhaled, releasing tendrils of smoke around her pale face. With precise steps she entered the Lodging House and lithely made her way to the individual chambers of West Side's leader. Not bothering to knock, Crow opened the door and coughed to alert the inhabitants of her presence. "There's a boy on his way, Steel," Crow informed the half-naked boy in the bed. Noticing a familiar tow-headed girl next to the leader, Crow nodded in acknowledgment, "Dove."

"Damn it, Crow," Steel, a dark-haired and immensely intelligent young man swore, stretching out for his trousers which were, of course, just out of reach. "Are you incapable of a knock?"

Crow blinked, no emotion evoked within her, and replied, "Of course I have the ability, I simply choose not to."

Steel grumbled, finally able to tug his pants to the bed. "Dove," he said, turning to face the blushing newsgirl beneath the covers. "We'll have to continue another time." He winked, grabbed a wrinkled shirt, and pulled Crow out of the room. "You sure know how to ruin a moment," Steel muttered as the two made their way to the rooftop.

"And what does Crash think of you sleeping with his sister?" Crow retorted.

Steel chuckled, "I have to make due, what with you not accepting the offer."

Crow's steely gray eyes showed no signs of registering the implication, but instead scanned the streets for the newsie that was fast approaching. "There," she stated, jutting her chin in the direction of the newcomer.

Steel stared out into the darkness, the moon allowing just enough light to make out the silhouette of the boy. "No doubt sent to make a peace agreement," the leader thought aloud. Crow nodded in agreement. "Whattaya say we give him a taste of West Side hospitality?"

With a curt bob of the head, Crow was off the roof in a flash, readying a select few to intercept the incoming visitor. Steel had a sneaking suspicion that the boy was from Manhattan, merely because it was Manhattan that had taken West Side's defiance the hardest. With the prices of the papers now secured, Steel felt there was no reason to stay bonded with Manhattan. Neither city needed each others' help at the moment, and Steel figured that not everyone could continuously be friends with everyone else, things just didn't work that way. But Jack Kelly and David Jacobs were set on maintaining order and unity throughout all of New York. A completely ludicrous idea if you asked Steel.

*

Keeping his dinner down by counting to one hundred numerous times, Kid Blink nervously made his way through the deserted streets of West Side. He had no idea why Jack had sent _him_ to West Side. He wasn't the biggest, or the toughest, or the smartest, or anything really. He was just Blink, the one-eyed, giddy boy that loved selling papers with his friends. Maybe Jack had hoped Blink could spread some of his joy for life with the ornery newsboys and girls in West Side.

To prove his point on the cold demeanor of the newsies of West Side, a slight girl appeared in front of him. Her dark hair cascaded in waves to her shoulders from underneath her hat and the way her eyes glowed an eerie silver in the moonlight made Blink's heart skip a beat in fear. "Uh," Blink tried to think of something to say, but his mouth had gone dry and his mind had gone blank.

To his right he heard a rustling and he turned his head to see another newsie closing in. This one was smaller than the girl, with hair of such a bright hue that even without the moon's glow you could have spotted him. His eyes, although fixed on Blink, flit between him and the girl, as if waiting for a sign. Swiveling to his left to see if his instincts were correct, Blink spied a third newsie approaching, this one much bulkier with muscle than the other two, and the scuffling of a shoe from behind him alerted him that there was yet a fourth newsie as well. Blink swallowed, consumed with fright.

"You can follow us on your feet," the girl in front of him spoke with absolutely no emotion in her voice, "Or we can drag you."

Blink's nostrils flared, eyes wide as he checked his peripheral vision to the right. He tipped his head slightly to the left to check and see the stance of the newsie on that side. Both were crouched now, as if ready to pounce. "I think I'se'll walk," he finally stated, voice cracking.

The girl in front of him raised an eyebrow. "Too bad," she replied coolly, confusing Blink beyond words, and the last thing the boy saw before he blacked out was her figure disappearing into the shadows.

*

"Prop him up good, Flea. Yeah, like that."

Blink groaned. Where was he? And why couldn't he move?

"He's comin' to, Crow. Whatchya want me ta do?" someone asked.

"Shut up, how bout?" was the snapped reply.

"Yes'm."

There was the click of fingers being snapped in front of his face and Kid opened his one eye, hoping it would focus soon. Black hair hung down from the newsie before him and he knew it was the girl from earlier. She smelled of lilacs and smoke, making Blink nauseous in his current state. "Ow," he moaned, trying to reach up and touch his forehead where something hot was leaking onto his patch.

"Keep trying," the girl said to him, "But you can't escape those knots. Skipper excels at such things."

"What?" Blink groggily asked, swinging his head up, causing a flash of pain to streak through his skull. He hissed, taking in air, at the pain. Finally, he noticed that he wasn't just sat in a chair, but instead had his hands tied behind it. "Oh…"

"Now," the girl continued in her monotone, "What is your name?"

Blink furrowed his brow. "They call me Kid. Kid Blink." He swiveled his head around to check out the room he was in. The young woman was bending at the hips in front of him so she could stare directly into his eye. On his right was the same little, orange haired newsie that had been there in the alley, the same with the newsie on the left side of the room, the big burly one. Behind the girl was a door, and standing at the door was a blonde newsboy about Blink's size, arms crossed, with a grimace gracing his face.

"Alright, Blink, why are you here?" the girl, obviously the one in charge, questioned.

"Wait," Blink said, "Who're you'se?" He nodded to the other three as well.

The one with the orange hair to the right bounced forward, a goofy grin on his face. "I'se Flea," he exclaimed, extending his hand and spitting on it for a shake, then quickly relenting when he remembered the fact that Blink's hands were tied.

The other two newsies smirked at Flea's actions, and the girl glared in his direction, sending him back to his sitting position. "That's not important," she said, still staring down Flea.

Blink, frustrated with the situation, argued, "I think it's pretty important!"

The girl stood from her bent position in front of Kid and jerked her jaw at one of the boys. The young, muscular boy from the left came forward, hand wrapped to protect his knuckles from cracking, and smacked Blink on the side of the head, emitting a cry from the patched boy. Leaning down to come eye to eye once again, the girl repeated, "Why. Are. You. Here." The way she stated it didn't make it sound like a question, but, this time, Blink obliged.

"Jack sent me to see how you'se were all doin'," Blink admitted.

Standing back up the girl sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "Boys," she stated, as if giving an order, never looking away from the sad and defeated form of Blink. The three newsies vacated the room, Flea glancing back once more and allowing Blink an apologetic grin while shrugging his shoulders, and the girl walked to the door after them. Turning, hand on the door, she said, "Sleep well," and closed the wooden barrier. Hearing the click of a lock, Blink squeezed his eye shut as searing pain shot through his body. He knew Jack should've sent someone else.

*

"I had a feeling it was Manhattan," Steel muttered, running a hand through his hair, thinking of a plan.

Crow was standing erect next to the doorframe of his room. "Jack's not going to be very happy we're holding one of his boys hostage," she informed her leader.

Steel looked up at her skeptically, "You don't think I already know that?"

Crow eyed the leader cautiously. Of course she knew Steel had come to that conclusion already, but she had felt it necessary to speak the fact. A knock on the door attracted both of their attentions.

Steel raised his brows. "See, Crow, that's how you're supposed to do it," he said, referring to Crow's negligence when it came to knocking.

Crow ignored his statement and grabbed the door handle. A thin boy with flaming red hair and dark chocolate eyes entered, hat in hand. "What is it Flea?" Crow inquired.

"It's just…the boys is startin' ta get worried." His gaze flicked from Steel to Crow. "None a us wants ta start a war or nothin', but with one a Jack's boys bein' held here…we'se gettin' worried that that might happen…"

"He's right, Steel," Crow affirmed, "Jack doesn't take kindly to anyone messing with his boys."

"I know," Steel yelled at his inferiors. Flea winced, but Crow continued to stand mutely, as always. Cocking his head to the side, he eyed the pair. "Go to Manhattan. Tell Jacky Boy he gets his newsie back if we no longer need to abide by his rules of oneness. Make it quick." Crow nodded, shoving Flea out of the doorway to make room for herself. "Oh and Crow?" The girl paused. "Bring Skipper and Crash. You can't avoid Brooklyn, and by now word has spread."

Crow blinked, understanding the danger posed by venturing through Brooklyn, as Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly were so close. She knew Spot would do all he could to get Blink before the quartet could even reach Manhattan, so taking Crash, one of West Side's most skilled fighters, and Skipper, one of the largest boys around, was a strategic tactic to give them a bit of an edge. Crow nodded, and vacated the room.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, leave a review and tell me what you think :) Thanks!


	2. Passing Through Is Hard to Do

**Author's Note:** Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I actually quite like the first half of this chapter :) So much so that I couldn't wait to upload it until morning. Hope you enjoy. It's pretty action packed.

**Disclaimer:** Newsies from the musical are not mine :( Although if Disney offered me Kid Blink and Spot, I'd take them in a heartbeat!

* * *

The smell of sea salt and fish assaulted Flea's nose and he sneezed delicately, receiving glares from Crash and Skipper. Both boys were on edge being so close to Brooklyn, and neither were in the mood to be honed in on because of Flea's sensitive nasal cavities. Crow, walking steadily in front of Flea, with Crash and Skipper flanking her, barely registered the sneeze, instead, she twitched her fingers, preparing them for a fight as her eyes continued to dart around the area. It was too quiet, even for evening, on the streets.

"Flea." Her voice echoed out into the silence surrounding them. "Get back to West Side and inform Steel that we've been delayed in Brooklyn."

"Why?" Flea asked, whipping his head from side to side, trying to figure out who or what was supposedly detaining the group.

Crow slowed down, and turned her torso slightly to face the young man behind her, cool gray eyes flashing. "Now," she ordered, violence temporarily entering into her tone.

Nodding, Flea jumped in the air, and sped off back in the direction they had come from. Skipper furrowed his brows, tensed up his shoulders, and inquired as to why Crow had sent Flea on his way.

Stopping abruptly, Crow answered without looking back at the two newsboys. "One, he was beginning to shred my last, and ever important, nerves, not to mention the boy becomes an immensely annoying burden after a while," she replied in a low voice. "And two, we're about to be intercepted in much the same way we treated Kid Blink. We'll not escape, but we'll not surrender until we're beat, either."

Crouching down, Crash's detail-oriented ochre eyes flitted through the shadows. "Duck and run," he hissed, bolting forward, just as a perfectly aimed shooter collided with the cobble stones that Crash had previously occupied.

Crow rolled her eyes, tucking swiftly into a ball, hunching forward, and pushing off strongly with one leg for momentum, staying low.

Skipper barreled forward, praying to whatever entity felt like listening at the moment that his burl would pull through for him once again as he heard the whiz of a pebble fly past his ear.

All three West Side residents knew that Brooklyn's first move of defense was their sling-shots. Each borough knew of this, and West Side had prepared their offensive tactics specifically for cases such as this one. Once Brooklyn had used all of their stone resources, they would send in swift fisted attackers to peck off the intruders still left standing. Luckily, the West Side newsies were known for their skill of flight, and their trained feet allowed Crash and Crow to skip speedily past most of the rocky bullets. Skipper was able to channel the pain of the stones that bombarded his back into motivation to drive him forward. He knew that if he was able to outlast the aerial attack, he could take out quite a few Brooklyn boys before succumbing to the horde that was bound to be on its way.

It took Crash and Crow mere seconds to realize that rocks had ceased in zooming past their figures, and both came to a screeching halt. There was no running from Brooklyn. Because Brooklyn would find you. Skipper came jogging up to the pair, both of whom were stone faced and peering upward, as Skipper's eyes formed slits and scanned the alleyways. "They're here," Crash growled, taking a step closer to Crow protectively and rolling up his sleeves just so. Skipper gathered himself up to his full height, throwing back his shoulders and puffing out his chest. His days spent prepping boats for the sea had helped him develop the muscular stature he needed on the street. Crow stood motionless, surrendering her body to instinct. She took in the individual scuffs of her comrades shoes and the miniscule creaks of Crash's old leather belt. From behind she heard the barely audible foot fall of an approaching fighter and, without any thought, swung her left foot up into the air, extending her leg once the momentum of her movement had jerked her one hundred and eighty degrees around, making direct contact to the gut of the unsuspecting boy that had previously been prepared to take her out.

This action alerted the rest of the waiting boys to the lethality of their uninvited guests, and they began to swarm, deciding as one that outnumbering was going to be their greatest advantage. Skipper hurled his assailants every which way, knocking other oncoming boys down to the ground as well. Crash gracefully planted his precisely calculated jabs and punches on his attackers, much the same way that Crow was beginning to swing her fists.

Skipper was the first to go down when a scrawny boy successfully latched himself to Skipper's back, securing a rope around the bigger boy's throat and suffocating him just enough to cause the West Side enforcer to black out. Once Skipper was taken care of, two more newsboys emerged from the shadows to drag his body out of the alley and to the Brooklyn Lodging House, most likely. Or, if tonight was a night when Spot Conlon was feeling particularly moody, to the river to be disposed of.

Crash, who had been holding his own without any other fighter getting even a piece of his clothing, went down hard when he was hit brutally in the back of the head by a loose plank of wood ripped from one of the many crates laying around the dirty streets. Seeing Crash go down in such an unsportsmanlike fashion, Crow kicked her current attacker in the scrotum and rushed over to the grinning boy that had just felled her fellow newsboy and flanked him with a jab to the side of the head and a well aimed knee to the abdomen. Spitting on the boy, she turned to face the rest of the swarm.

A sharp whistle caught her attention and she spun back around just in time to catch sight of a fist slamming directly into her right eye, sending sparks flying into her vision. Stumbling back a few steps, Crow tried to catch herself, splaying her arms out just far enough to regain her balance. Blinking rapidly in order to focus on who had landed a punch on her, she kicked out once more, warding back the oncoming attacker. She glanced around, noticing that none of the other newsboys were stepping forward to swing at her. Crow returned her hazy sights back around and saw the flash of a metal-tipped cane lurch toward her stomach, but dodged to the right. She recognized that cane. She and the owner had been good friends once upon a time, back when things were simple and the only thing you had to worry about was catching cooties. A tight-lipped smile graced her face, welcoming the challenge of taking out Spot Conlon.

But none such luck was for Crow, as Spot threw his cane off to one of his boys, who reached out and caught it gently from the air. Crouching, Crow beckoned Spot forward, still wearing a small smile, and noticing Spot's signature smirk cross his lips. Both waited for the other to make a move. Crow remembered how similar their fighting strategies were, and this only heightened the thrill of the challenge. Finally, she faked forward, drawing Spot in, and quickly retraced her step backward, while punching out at the same time, just brushing the folds of his shirt. Spot let out a laugh. "Shoulda known you'se was gonna do that," he grinned. "Some things nevah change."

Crow leveled her steely gaze and continued to smile evenly, making Spot's smirk grow. "Same as with you," she replied, hinting at the fact that although Spot was one of the better fighter's in all of New York, that he still fell for her fakes, and her fakes alone.

"Ah," Spot sighed, "Still clingin' ta the hoity-toity artic-uh-lation I see."

Crow raised an eyebrow, never liking the way he had made fun of how she talked with such a refined western accent. She had been jostled around from home to home as a toddler, but she had been raised the longest by a woman who had moved back to New York from the Dakotas. Her accent had stuck with Crow and had pegged her as a somewhat unique individual among the newsie world, as she preferred the use of proper grammar.

A sudden burst of adrenaline trilled through Crow's tiring body and she struck out at the leader of Brooklyn, hitting him rather well just below one of his pectoral muscles. Spot wheezed, but lurched out and attached his hand around Crow's wrist before she could draw away, and he twisted it roughly, emitting a short and uncharacteristic yelp from the girl's mouth. A low murmur rustled through the circle of Brooklyn boys that were watching from the sidelines. Crow was beat; they knew it; she knew it; but most importantly, Spot knew it, and as he smugly glanced down at his adversary, he jerked her back up, wrist still twisted, and connected the knuckles of his opposite hand once again with her face. A bright flash of silver erupted before Crow's eyes, and everything went black, the cackling of the Brooklyn newsboys fading fast.

*

Kid Blink awoke to the high pitched scream of a girl as she stepped back from the broom closet he was being held within. Taking in a deep breath he stretched as much as one possibly can with their hands secured behind them and yawned. Today was a new day. Today, he could convince West Side that Manhattan was really just looking out for everybody's best interests and that they weren't just power hungry and wanting control. Although every now and again Blink had seen that greedy gleam in Jack's eyes, but the glint was always quickly doused, as if it was just a passing thought on Jack's radar. Blink had confidence enough in Jack to know that Jack wouldn't risk the well being of anyone in order to have control over all the boroughs of New York.

Within minutes, the bright blonde girl returned with Steel, someone that Blink finally recognized, in tow. Steel looked rather disgruntled at being waken so early, but such was the price when you hid a newsie in the broom closet without warning the rest of the building's occupants.

"I came in here ta get a broom, ya know, so's I could sweep up, and, well, there he was," the girl was going on, gesturing at Blink with wild hand movements. Steel ran a hand through his tangled locks and grumbled to himself before explaining to the girl that Blink was the boy from Manhattan that had caused all of the uproar between the boys yesterday.

"Now, please, get on with your chores, Dove," Steel nearly pleaded, trying to free himself from the continually talking newsgirl. He waited for Dove to exit the room before pursing his lips and glaring over at Blink, who just sat, grinning in what he thought to be a very friendly way. "Crow tells me you're here to check up on us."

Blink tilted his head. "I don' know who Crow is, but Jack sent me ta see if ya were doin' fine," he answered the agitated leader.

"Well, when—if—you get back to Manhattan, you can tell Jack that we don't require any check ups from him," Steel told Blink. Blink gulped, not too pleased with the fact that his return to Manhattan was not certain, and nodded in acknowledgment to Steel's demand. "Good," the leader relented, then tilted his head to search whatever room was outside of the broom closet. "Ginger," he beckoned with a wave of his hand. A slight girl with dark red hair and a pinched expression appeared in the doorway. "Take care of our guests wounds will you, and get him something to eat." Bobbing his head in good-bye, Steel left the room and Blink in the hands of Ginger.

Stepping forward the girl spoke with an Irish lilt to her words. "Where's it hurt?" she asked brusquely, not waiting for reply before stripping Blink of his hat and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"Hey," Blink protested, although he had to admit, he was worried himself that he might have a cracked rib or two.

Ginger gave him a silencing glare and repeated her question before adding, "If ya don't tell me I'm going ta leave whatever ailments ya 'ave unattended."

"My head and my chest," Blink replied immediately. Ginger rolled her eyes and continued to remove Blink's shirt, poking at his ribcage. "Agh!" Blink barked in pain.

"Big baby," Ginger hissed to herself, continuing to shove her fingertips into his exposed flesh. "Ya've a broken rib and two cracked," she diagnosed, now spreading her fingers out above Blink's left eye. "Ya've a pretty deep gash, but I wouldn't worry bout it, jus' a headache is all that'll come from that." Letting out a huff, Ginger placed her hands on her hips and rolled onto the heels of her feet. "I'se'll get ya some bandages and a cup 'o coffee. Can't promise there's any food today."

"Thanks," Blink nodded in gratitude. Maybe his stay wouldn't be _so_ horrible he reasoned as Ginger gave him a small grin and went to retrieve his dressings.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Once again, reviews are awesome, and it really wouldn't hurt to leave one, even if it's just short and really makes no sense, seriously, just leave me something utterly and completely random, just so I know you guys are actually reading :) Thanks!


	3. Cutting a Deal

**Author's Note: **I really didn't mean to make this chapter so long...but hopefully it works :)

**Disclaimer:** Any Disney newsie does not belong to me.

* * *

"Not much food again today," Ginger called as she entered the broom closet Blink was still being kept in. She drew in a short breath when she saw him playing with the rope that had previously kept him bound to the chair.

Blink grinned brilliantly. "No mattah how good a knot is, if I've got time, I can get outta it," he casually told the surprised girl.

"Right," Ginger nodded, tensing up at the fact that a boy much denser in muscle than she was no longer bound to some sort of object. Although he was just sitting where he had originally been sat, not posing a threat at all, Ginger had become accustomed to the tricks human beings played on one another to seem innocent. "Steel!" she yelled, hoping the leader was within earshot.

Plodding down the stairs at a pace not fast enough for Ginger's liking, Steel appeared. "What is it?" he asked, seemingly uninterested.

Ginger, sights still locked on Blink, said, "He's, uh, loose."

Steel cocked an eyebrow. "Skipper tied the knots," he said, as if such a thing could never happen to a knot Skipper tied.

"He's been workin' at those knots since he was conscious Steel, he was bound ta untie himself at some point," Ginger growled.

Blink waved as Steel entered the room. Steel nodded, standing before the newsie and puffing up to give himself a larger appearance. "So Blink, you gonna behave? If you do, we'll not tie you up again and you can walk around, escorted of course by Ginger."

"What?" the girl glared at her leader. She had not become a newsie so she could babysit a kidnapped young man from an opposing borough.

Steel glared at her; what he said was law, and she was in no position to argue. Turning back to Blink he continued with his offer. "You cause any trouble for her, or for anyone else, we'll beat you so bad you won't be able to cause trouble again, got it?"

Blink nodded, really needing to use a bathroom.

"Good," Steel clapped his hands together and grinning at Ginger. "If you need any help, I'm sure Dove would be more than willing to oblige. If you'll excuse me." He tipped an imaginary hat at Blink and removed himself from Blink's range of sight.

"He seems ta be in a better mood," Blink observed out loud.

Ginger stared after her leader. "Indeed."

Speeding back up the stairs, Steel confronted Flea once again. "Go on," he told the smaller boy.

Flea nodded, starting where he had left off. He wasn't the fastest runner, and had showed up late that morning. "As I said, Crow just told me ta book it back dis way, even though I didn' see no Brooklyn boys around…"

"That's because they hide Flea," Steel said dryly. "What next?"

"Well, she said ta tell ya that they'se were gonna be detained there," Flea squeaked, never liking being the bearer of bad news.

Steel set his jaw. "Right." He got up and stepped towards his window. "Crow better know what she's doing," he mused, staring in the direction of Brooklyn.

*

Crow stirred, her head pounding. Maybe she shouldn't have welcomed the fight as much as she had. Opening her eyes she slowly turned her eyes to see Crash stretched out across three chairs that had been pushed together to form a make-shift cot of shorts, his legs dangling off the edge. Skipper was already awake, glaring at the doorway in front of them. His eyes were bloodshot from his near strangulation and there was bruising on his neck, but other than that, he appeared fine. Certainly better then Crash's comatose condition.

Hearing the clank of metal, Skipper diverted his gaze to the side, swearing. "They really did a number on that one side a ya face," he explained as Crow tried to figure out just where that sound of a rattling chain was coming from. Skipper chortled darkly and supplied an answer when he noticed her confused expression. "Handcuffs."

"Sure is moving up in the world," Crow remarked, jangling her pair once more. She pulled against the restraints, cold iron cutting into her wrists. They were heavy duty, most likely nicked off of an unobservant bull. She could just imagine the Brooklyn boys purposely distracting an unsuspecting police officer and then having one of their talented pick pockets pry them loose from the officer's belt. "Must be unable to tie knots that can hold us," she muttered, attempting to cheer her enforcer up slightly.

"Nah," Spot disagreed, sauntering into the room. "I just find 'em ta be a bit more…fun." He smirked, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Ignoring his vulgarity, Crow inquired as to their situation. "So what are you going to do Spot?"

He nodded in Crash's direction. "Your boy ovah there ain't much of a use ta me, what with Doc sayin' he might not wake up." Crow's nostrils flared ever so slightly. Crash was a good guy. A little rough around the edges, but a decent newsboy and person all around. Knowing that he may never see the sun again made her insides twist. "I might just end up dumpin' 'im in the river if he don't come-to soon."

Skipper struggled where he sat, his wooden chair groaning against the pressure. "You little shit."

The impish grin that had previously graced Spot's face vanished, replaced by a look of utter rage. "For that I think I'se'll just dump 'im right now. And you along with 'im, big boy."

"Spot." Crow spoke in a low, calm voice. "Don't do it."

Rounding on Crow, Spot's smirk came back, but the anger burning in his eyes wasn't yet extinguished. "Not much ya can do ta stop me, is there Crow?" He walked slowly behind her, picking up her hands and jostling them, making her handcuffs clink in reply.

Expression smooth and unreadable, Crow answered. "No. but I'm willing to cut you a deal."

Spot grinned, chuckling under his breath. "Ya know there's only one kinda deal I strike with goils," he informed, testing to see if Crow's loyalty to her West Side boys would waiver.

Without hesitating, Crow nodded. "Understood."

Skipper widened his eyes in her direction. "Crow, ya can't," he objected.

Glaring from under her lashes, Crow silenced Skipper. "Saving Crash and you is of dire importance right now." If some sort of message didn't make its way to Manhattan soon, a war between boroughs would surely be on the rise, with West Side carrying most of the blame.

Spot smirked. "Sad ya goil's about ta be soiled by a Brooklyn boy?"

Skipper's cheeks burned red, "Like I'se said, you'se a little shit."

There was the sound of the air being cut, and the next thing Skipper knew, his ribcage was being hammered by Spot's cane. Letting out a low gasp, trying to regain his breath, Skipper glanced over at Crow, whose eyes were blank and coolly focused forward. If only he could learn to restrain himself and keep his emotions so in check. "I didn' quite catch what ya said," Spot hissed, daring the boy to repeat himself. This time, Skipper kept his jaw shut, lips forming a tight line. "Good." Spot returned his attention to a patiently waiting Crow. "Now, ya mentioned a deal?"

Crow surveyed Crash from the corner of her eye, taking half a second to peer at Skipper as well. "Leave my boys alone and allow them to continue on to Manhattan. I'll stay here until they're heading back to West Side and making their way through."

Spot grinned. "And, uh, what is it exactly that I get from this bargain?" He knew quite well what it was she was offering, he had warned her himself when he told her he only made certain deals with girls, but Spot just couldn't help but want to hear her say it.

Skipper grimaced, straining once again in his seat, uncomfortable allowing this transaction to take place. There had to be some other way, he just didn't have the brains to think of anything at the moment, and with Crash completely out cold, he didn't have any help coming up with a plan.

Crow swallowed her pride. "You'll get me for the day, and I'll be a sort of hostage of yours until Skipper and Crash return for me."

Cocking his head, Spot smirked, "And what's ta say they will return?"

Crow stared, stony eyed and cold, not blinking, at Spot, waiting for him to accept the deal she had laid before him. Spot was relatively easy to bargain with if you were willing to give enough of yourself in the deal. "What do you say?" she asked, completely disregarding his last query.

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Spot gazed over at Crash. "Tell ya what," Spot said. "I'm willin' ta take ya up on part a the offer." Crow raised an eyebrow, curious as to what Spot was wanting to change. "Your boy Crash, right? He don' look like he's gonna be goin' anywhere any time soon. What's you say to you and me this afternoon, and then, once night falls, I let you and the Skipper heah go on your way, while you'se leave Crash."

"No." Crow shook her head. "Crash is unable to stand up for himself if you decide to do anything with him."

This made Spot fume. "Are you accusin' me a goin' back on me word Crow?" Spot's arms were tense, his pride on the line. "I ain't gonna touch a hair on Crash's little head if I'se make a deal with ya ta keep 'im safe, got it?" True, Spot Conlon always stuck to his word, but Crow wasn't persuaded easily. Trust issues were big when it came to West Side newsies. Trust no one but your own. In other words, if you weren't part of West Side, you couldn't be trusted, even if you were Spot Conlon, who was renowned for keeping all arrangements he made.

"If you'se don'," Skipper unleashed his tongue to put his input into the treaty, "I'se'll come back an' kill ya myself."

Spot laughed. "I'se willin' ta bet Crow'll beat ya to it if it comes ta that." Peeking out the door of the shanty dining room he was keeping his captives in, Spot yelled, "Hey! Doc! Get ovah heah!"

Complying with his leader's request, a young brunette with a string-bean look to her entered the room. Her hair was choppy, as if someone had taken a scissors and cut wherever they could make contact, and her eyes were large and round, giving her a deceiving innocent appearance. "Yeah Spot?" she asked with a smoker's slight rasp. "That boy finally kick the can?"

Skipper grimaced, and so did Crow internally. They didn't like the way this young woman so casually addressed the possible upcoming death of their close comrade. Spot shook his head. "Nah, not yet. I need ya ta keep an eye on these two though, while Crow and I take care of a little business," he informed Doc. Doc pursed her lips, she had always thought that Spot's bargains with females were quite distasteful and did nothing for the whole of the Brooklyn newsies.

"Get on with it then," she relented, dragging a chair to herself and straddling it, positioning herself right in front of Skipper. She grinned. "How's it rollin'?" she taunted, knowing full well that the massive boy was getting restless.

Spot pulled the key from the leather cord that hung around his neck, unlocking the handcuffs that bound Crow to her chair. "This way," he smirked, extending a hand in the direction of the staircase. Crow turned one last time to take in the sight of Crash, pale and unconscious, then nod bitterly at Skipper, who returned the gesture, before she followed in Spot's footsteps.

The moment Spot closed the door to his private room, he whipped off his cabby hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He had decided to cut it shorter, in an attempt to stay cooler in the summertime heat. He wouldn't admit it, but he was a tad self-conscious of his new look, although every girl he knew swore it made him all the more handsome.

Crow stood awkwardly in front of him. Her body was rigid and she was taking deep, quiet breaths through her nose in an effort to calm down. She wasn't new to using her womanly wiles to get her way, no newsie was, but she had never had to deal with Spot Conlon in such a way, and for some reason this felt different than the sparse times before.

A smirk ignited his face. "I brought the handcuffs," he joked, dropping them into his worn out desk's drawer. "Just in case."

Crow merely blinked, wondering when their activities would start. Spot moved closer to her, reaching his hand up and removing her cap, throwing it to the desktop. It skidded to a halt, perfectly centered on the wood. Clearing all thoughts from her mind and putting up a wall, Crow felt her hands move to his already half unbuttoned shirt and continue down. As she did so, Spot placed his hands on her hips, directing her backwards until she felt the foot of his bed press against the back of her thighs. He captured her lips with a hunger that Crow had never known, and she had dealt with some pretty eager boys in her life. She was taken aback and gasped. So much for putting up a wall and going numb.

She tangled her fingers in his short hair, pulling his face closer. They stayed that way for a few minutes before Spot shrugged off his shirt and Crow caught a glimpse of the dressing wrapped around his ribs. No doubt she had broken at least one the night before. Spot was staring at her face, one hand on her cheek and tucking her hair back, while the other hand tugged greedily at the buttons on her pants. She slowly crept backwards up the bed until both of them were no longer in contact with the floor. "A black eye suits ya," Spot grinned, failing at keeping the sound of his desire out of his voice.

"As much as cracked ribs suit you," Crow responded with a smirk.

Spot covered her lips with his once more, and crushed her down onto the bed.

*

Skipper was rocking back and forth on his chair, tilting it back as far as his center of balance would allow without tipping over. He was getting nervous under the impenetrable and unwavering stare of Doc who, since her arrival, had said not a word. Skipper didn't particularly want to talk to anyone from Brooklyn, but the tension in the room was growing, making Skipper squirm. "So," he finally said, breaking the silence between them. "Is Crash…is he really gonna die?"

Doc blinked and shrugged her shoulders. "It's a likely possibility. He took a pretty good hit ta the back a the head. Some nevah recovah from that." She moved her gaze to the boy on the made-up bench. "But he's got a strong heartbeat, so I'm thinkin' he'll be fine in time." Sensing how worried Skipper truly was, Doc assured him, "I'se'll care for 'im while you two's away. Spot don' break his promises, even if I don' really agree with 'im."

Skipper furrowed his brows. "Ya mean ya want Crash ta be thrown into the river?"

Doc laughed loudly, a husky, rough sound. "Nah. I'se just don' like the way he strikes a deal with someone of the feminine persuasion," she admitted, not that she was exactly confiding a secret with the young man. Everyone in Brooklyn knew of how little Doc thought of Spot's relations with women. She always thought he could bargain for something that would not only solidify his leadership, but also the well being of Brooklyn. None of the other Brooklynites felt the same as her, for they trusted their king fully, but Doc stuck to her guns.

Skipper licked his lips, feeling antsy once again as silence engulfed the room. Doc wasn't much of a talker, and Skipper had no subjects he wanted to bring up with the hard-headed girl. Slowly, Doc rose from her sitting position and stretched, teasing Skipper with her easy ability to get up and move when she desired. Tromping loudly across the room she knelt down and bent her head to Crash's chest, listening intently. "It's still beatin'," she said, calming a few of Skipper's nerves, before returning to her chair.

Skipper blinked, knowing the only reason she had done that was for his benefit. "Thanks," he muttered, not used to saying such a word. Doc nodded, finding no need for more words to be passed between them.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So that is that! Leave a review please :)


	4. Mercy

**Author's Note:** Hi all! So, I've been lookin' at the numbers, and they don't seem to match up very well. See, Blink and I were checking out how many hits this story had, and then we looked at the number of reviews, and Blink got kind of confused and Spot went on a rampage smashing random things with his cane. So, let's all help Blink and his confusion and Spot and his anger management problems by reviewing! Those of you who have been reviewing: yay! Gold Stars and the Newsie of your choice for you! :D Anyways, on with the chapter!

Also, the first segment of the chapter is slightly risque...but not too bad. Just warning you. So don't be offended :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't technically own Newsies...

* * *

Sex with Spot Conlon was not unpleasant. On the contrary, it was a rather enjoyable event. But this did not mean that Crow was letting the satisfaction of it go to her head. She had a mission she needed to complete, and this had just been one of the necessary detours.

She was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the buttons on her shirt, aligning them with the correct holes, back to the Brooklyn leader who was watching from the bed, stretching out his arms. "Ya know Crow," he smirked, "I used ta think you'se was a complicated goil. But once you'se in the sack, you'se textbook all the way."

Crow stopped buttoning her shirt. "What's that mean?" she inquired, not allowing a hint of interest to enter her voice. Spot always tried to get the most he could out of his deals, and so it had to be some sort of gimmick to get her back into bed to 'prove' how untextbook she actually was. Then again, once she had managed to corral her emotions away after the first few kisses, sex with Spot _had_ become rather unoriginal. Like everyone else. Only better.

"You'se the same as the rest a the whores out there, same as all the goils out there that need somethin'. Ya just bottle up everythin' and imagine you'se somewhere else," Spot pointed out. "Ya don' know how ta loosen up and just have a good time."

This was true. Crow had never been able to release her inhibitions and just let go. Growing up on the streets had stripped her of that ability, resulting in a cold, hard exterior. "Are you saying that every time an opportunity presents itself I should throw all common sense to the wind and go for it?" she asked hypothetically.

Spot chuckled; he was standing right behind her now, still shirtless. Wrapping his long fingers around her waist he kissed her exposed collar bone, making his way up. "Well," he breathed between kisses, "maybe not _every_ opportunity."

Crow raked in a shaky breath. "So really you just meant I should consider you an exception?"

Spot bit down hard just below her earlobe, rewarded by a small gasp escaping from Crow's lips. "Like I said," he whispered in her ear. "Textbook."

Crow turned around. "And you're not?"

This question took the King of Brooklyn aback. No one had ever dared reply in such an opposing manner, let alone mock him with such a question. He prided himself on being able to take care of a woman in his bed, even if that woman had been coerced by some sort of bargain. "You'se sayin' ya didn' like it?" he scoffed, stepping closer to her with a smirk.

Crow raised her eyebrows. "Pleasure has nothing to do with it Spot. I'm sure you enjoyed our escapades just as much as I did. It was merely a question, exploring the notion that you might not be as inventive as you believe yourself to be."

Spot scowled. Now she was getting under his skin, which, coincidentally, was right where Crow wanted to be. She had enough knowledge of the great and mighty Spot Conlon to know that if there was one thing besides Brooklyn that Spot cherished more, it was his pride. Crow figured if she ever needed another favor from the boy, she could pull this out of her sleeve and offer him a rematch of sorts. Because part of Spot's pride was being able to be known as a notorious and pleasurable seducer. But if what Crow was implying was true, he wasn't much different from any other young man that did the same thing as he. And Spot just wouldn't stand for that. "I ain't textbook," he decided, "You'se just blocked everythin' out an' weren't able ta enjoy nothin'."

"As you say," Crow grinned. She returned to staring into the mirror and concentrating on buttoning her shirt.

Spot stood behind her, flabbergasted. This just would not do. Spot wasn't used to girls not singing his praises and begging for more. Even the whores he had compared Crow to earlier had wanted more, and _they_ were the ones being paid. No, he was going to have to get Crow into that category as well, because as far as Spot was concerned, there shouldn't even be another category besides the 'Loved It and Need More' category.

"When you'se pass through again," Spot forged on smoothly, "Maybe we'se can try and prove each othah wrong."

A small smile crossed Crow's face as she once again spun to look at the newsboy. She slowly ran her hands up his bare chest, dancing her fingertips over the bandages that were strapped in the middle of his chest, making him smirk, and linked her fingers together behind his neck. Spot stepped closer and bent down to press his lips to hers, but Crow spoke just before contact. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Subconsciously Spot bobbed his head and tried kissing Crow again, but she laughed, pulling away. "Too bad." She cocked her head to the side and patted a shell shocked Spot on the head. "Now, it's nightfall. Skipper and I had best be on our way."

Spot smirked, hoping to save some shred of his integrity, "Ya know, it ain't safe ta travel at night," and grabbed his shirt off of the floor where it had fallen. His key, which had not been removed during the numerous acts that took place, was still dangling from his neck as he secured his boots on his sock-clad feet. Crow crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. "This way then," he muttered, feeling utterly putout, holding the door open for her just so he could watch her walk in front of him.

*

Mercy cut into the circular wooden table with a knife she had nicked off of some bum on the street, sharpening the dull blade. Her mahogany colored hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and one of her sleeves was rolled up to her elbow while the other remained pulled down to her wrist. She was bored. She had sold all of her papers quickly and it was much too cold to go swimming with the idiotic young men she pretended to be friends with. Sure, they had certainly tried their hardest to get her to accompany them, thinking the frigid temperatures would somehow make them more likely to snag her, but Mercy wasn't stupid. She knew that the Brooklyn band of newsboys only wanted one thing out of every girl, no matter how much they pledged they only wanted friendship. And sometimes she took advantage of such knowledge, but on her own terms, and only when necessary.

She glanced up just in time to watch a horde of aforementioned young men enter the lobby of the Brooklyn Lodging House, soaking wet with red cheeks and big grins. "Hiya boys," she cooed, sliding the switchblade into her pocket. "How's the water?" She grinned, watching them shiver in their undergarments.

A collective round of "Not too bad" passed through the group as they plodded up the stairs to fetch something to dry themselves off with so that they could replace their clothes and procure a game of poker before the night got away from them. Mercy shook her head. They were all stupid. There was only one boy that she had ever thought was worth any time at all, and he was currently upstairs in bed with a complete stranger from West Side.

Spot Conlon had caught Mercy's fancy not right away, but over time. True, Spot may squander some of his power on petty conquests that he didn't intend to have last, but overall, he was the best leader Brooklyn, and possibly all of New York, had seen in quite some time. It was this particular power she lusted after. She had decided that he was the only man worth her trouble or time. Not that she felt she needed a man. Just if she ever decided to settle down in time, Spot was the one she was going to settle with. He just didn't know it yet.

There was the creak of stressed wood as said newsboy and his one-afternoon stand descended the staircase. Mercy watched from her corner table as they passed through the common area and opened the door to the small and worn out dining hall, swiftly closing it behind them. It wasn't much of a secret though that Brooklyn had three of West Side's best locked up. Every newsboy and girl in Brooklyn knew of it, but none of them knew what was going to happen. Spot had made no inclination as to what he was thinking, as per usual, and the newsies were just going to have to wait it out.

Mercy was getting eager to see if they would make an example of the three. She was a gruesome girl with a bit of a sick mind. In her heart of hearts, she secretly hoped they would chuck all three off the docks and into the freezing river, to drown in the watery depths. Then again, she wasn't sure if she wanted to swim where a dead body was rotting below her, let alone three. Except for her hang-up on Spot, Mercy cared for no one but herself. In fact, she didn't actually care much for Spot, she just liked the fact that he was top dog and able to provide. She pegged herself as number one in her life, Spot a distant second, and everyone else was of no importance.

She was a good newspaper peddler, but acting was her true gift. She had survived her entire life by acting as a confident girl who, although she wasn't as social as some, still cared deeply about anyone who entered her life. She had the boys of the house, Spot being exempt, wrapped around her finger, and as far as the girls were concerned, Mercy could care less.

Drawing out her knife once again, she began to etch the outline of a dog running, and once she was finished, she added flames. If anybody asked of her grotesque sketch she'd shrug, giggle, and good-naturedly say it was a pun. Not a dog being burned alive, racing to put out the fire upon it's back, but rather just a 'hot dog'. You couldn't go wrong with the Brooklyn boys if you brought food into the equation.

*

"Dear Lord, Blink, how longs it take ta piss?" Ginger crossed her arms impatiently, standing just outside the stall that Blink was occupying.

From inside came Blink's muffled response, "You'se've had me tied up for two days, what ya expect?" Emerging from the stall, Blink washed and wiped his hands.

Ginger began to walk out of the boys lavatory, having to pass by the stall Blink had used, and waved her fingers before her nose, "Phew! You'se smell foul."

Blink's typical grin was replaced by a scowl, "It ain't that bad!"

Ginger stopped in her tracks and swiveled her head, raising an eyebrow in argument. Blink blushed, feeling as if just one look had brought him down numerous pegs. Continuing on down the steps, Ginger surveyed the common area that the newsies of West Side usually relaxed in after a hard day of selling. So far only a few newsboys adorned the tables and chairs that were strewn about. "I'se starvin'," Ginger admitted. "Ya got any money on ya?" she asked Blink, turning to face him.

"Uh," Blink glanced at the ceiling, trying to remember if he had brought along a few pennies. He dug into his pockets and ended up just shy of fifteen cents.

Ginger shrugged. "Good enough, ain't like we'se goin' somewhere fancy."

Just as she was about to push the front door open, two newsboys slightly larger than Blink stepped in front of her, blocking the way. Ginger placed a determined hand on her hip. "Whattaya want boys?"

Rafe, a toned German boy with dirty blonde hair and a cock-eye, crossed his arms, glancing over at Clay, a stout young man with freckles covering every inch of his body. "We ain't likin' the way Steel's lettin' out the captive," Rafe asserted, staring down at Ginger.

She raised a questioning eyebrow. "Oh yeah? I'se'll pass the message on ta him if ya'd like me ta," she offered, tilting her head to glare at the two buffoons.

Clay gulped noticeably, letting his gaze flick over to Rafe in order to decipher his reaction. Rafe was obviously unnerved at the fact that Ginger felt no remorse in ratting him out. "I'se can tell him myself," Rafe spat.

"Good," Ginger stated, "It'll save me a trip. 'Sides, he's on his way." She nodded her chin at the window just next to the door. Strutting toward the Lodging House was Steel, his own newspaper clenched in his right hand, looking none too happy. It had apparently been a bad day, and all four newsies could see that Steel was in no mood to be spoken to.

"Well," Rafe began, backing down, "Maybe some othah time then…"

Stepping forward Clay grimaced. "Just make sure you'se don' let this one—" he jerked his thumb in the direction of Blink, who was close to dissolving into a quivering puddle "—get away."

"Yeah," Rafe entered the conversation again, slurring his words together in an attempt to be quick before Steel opened the door, "Cuz if he does get away, it ain't just him we'se'll be hunting down. It'll be you too."

Ginger grinned. "I'm quakin' in me boots," she laughed, shoving Clay to the side and wrenching the door open, dragging Blink by the collar of his vest. Sometimes living with the guys really irritated her.

Blink tipped his hat to Steel, who was proceeding up the steps, trying to get on the leaders good side. Unfortunately, Steel had not had a good day, what with having been chased halfway across his borough by the cops when they noticed he was pinching bread off of a vendor's cart, and so, when his eyes landed on Blink, he didn't even register the respectful gesture and instead scowled, muttering about how Manhattan was infuriating.

Ginger chuckled at Blink's terrified expression. The boy was like a kitten. Manhattan must have been like heaven compared to West Side, and Ginger found herself thinking that maybe life would have been just a little easier had she found her way to Manhattan instead of stopping short in West Side. But now was not the time to wonder, and she punched Blink gently on the shoulder to catch his attention. "This way," she inclined her neck in the direction of the little diner she had in mind for lunch.

"Oh, right," Blink choked out.

Ginger grinned. "Ya realize those two are complete boneheads, don't ya? They won't ever do anythin' without direction from Steel. Ya ain't got nothin' ta worry about." Blink looked greatly relieved at this knowledge.

Ginger glanced away from his face, not able to make eye contact knowing what she had just said was a lie. As much as Steel liked the position of leader, he wasn't what one would call a good one. Without Crow, Steel was nothing. She was the brains behind the operation, always keeping everyone in check, and with her absent for God knows how long, Ginger was beginning to feel uneasy, and, deep inside, she was hoping Crow would get back as soon as possible.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, so, unless you want me to sic Spot on you with his uncontrollable temper, you should probably leave a review... :) Thanks!


	5. Making It to Manhattan

**Author's Note: **Looooooong time...I know...my apologies. Things have become kind of hectic and I fell out of my Newsies funk, but I just finished watching BDHONS and that will hopefully fuel my writing for a little while. Once again, I'm sorry that I'm one of those authors that randomly updates once every...forever. Hopefully you enjoy this not overly exciting but leads up to excitingness chapter... :D

**Disclaimer:** I own my newsies, and Disney owns theirs...

* * *

Crow led the way, her feet pounding in sure measure before her, as Skipper followed obediently, glancing over his shoulder every now and again. "I still don' like leavin' Crash back there," he mumbled, causing Crow to spin on her heel and face the bigger boy with a malicious glint in her eye.

"And tell me Skipper, what exactly should we have done instead?" Crow spat. "Taking Crash with us would have been just as dangerous as leaving Crash behind. Spot is right; he's of no use to anyone unconscious."

Skipper's eyes bugged out. "So what, you'se'd be fine with Crash goin' in the river?"

Crow's eyes narrowed to slits, "No, you imbecile, I am merely saying that it is best Crash stay in Brooklyn where Spot can watch after him and he can get at least a little medical attention from that girl. Otherwise you'd be carrying him on your shoulder, which most definitely would not be good for his head." Turning back around and effectively ending the conversation, Crow marched on.

After a few tense minutes of silence, Crow heard Skipper mumble, "Her name is _Doc_."

Crow rolled her eyes. Skipper had become attached to that Brooklyn girl within a matter of hours? That was the problem with people; they always let their emotions lead them. Life was much easier to handle once you learned to shut your emotions off and save them for brighter days, of which there were few. Stepping off of the Brooklyn Bridge and entering Manhattan, Crow and Skipper could tangibly feel the difference between the two boroughs. While Brooklyn was constantly tense and had an air of impending doom surrounding it, Manhattan was lighter, and it even seemed as if it were brighter. There were no hungry faces lurking in the shadows, calculating whether or not they could take you out in a fight.

Skipper felt relieved, and Crow felt out of place.

.

"This is almost better than Tibby's!" Blink cried in near ecstasy as he wolfed down his third bowl of stew, which was on special that day so the cook could finally get rid of it.

Ginger blinked in slight disgust at the boy before her. He was inhaling the food placed before him, no restraint whatsoever, not to mention table manners. Ginger wasn't exactly a proper sort herself, but she at least had the decency to use a spoon, a utensil Blink apparently found to be overrated. "You'se're gonna make me barf," Ginger remarked offhandedly, looking anywhere but at Blink's messy side of the table.

Blink laughed, accidently allowing a chunk of potato to fall from his wide mouth, and blushed. "Oops," he muttered, scooping the potato back up, making sure it stayed in his mouth that time.

Ginger raised an eyebrow and scrunched her face. She blinked at the sloppy newsboy in front of her before standing from her seat. "I'se'll wait outside," she informed him, ignoring Blink's large-eyed puppy look.

"Wait!" he cried, the same potato chunk falling past his lips as before. He stared down at his bowl. "You'se're just out ta get me…" he grumbled, scooping it back up and purposefully chomping it into mash.

.

Mercy stood from the table she had been sitting at, watching a gaggle of boys play black jack, and made her way to the room in which Spot was keeping their hostage.

Spot never actually referred to Crash as a hostage, but that was how Mercy saw it.

Without knocking, she pushed the door open, raising an eyebrow at the boy sprawled across the chairs, ignoring Doc altogether. "What a poor boy…" she murmured, keeping up her act, and knelt down beside the make-shift cot. She placed her hand to the side of Crash's head, exerting a bit more pressure than necessary before she was suddenly yanked back by the shoulder.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she glared up at Doc, who was standing next to her, fingers firmly holding onto Mercy's shirt. "I don' think Spot wants 'im ta 'ave visitors," she informed Mercy with a look of distaste.

Mercy pursed her lips before standing erect and staring down into the shorter girl's eyes. "I'se don' see no problem with it. I only mean well," she said, although the defiant tone of her voice was beginning to give her away. She licked her lips before breaking eye contact and sauntering to the door. "Awfully protective of the boy," she observed, raising an eyebrow.

Doc narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath. "If somethin' goes wrong, I'se'll not only 'ave Spot on my case, but that Crow girl too," she shot out.

Mercy chuckled darkly, a small smirk crossing her lips. "I'se sure that's what it is, Doc. After all, you'se'd never fall for anyone."

Doc's cheeks burned red. "Spot said no visitors," she repeated in a feral tone, her hands balling into fists at her side.

Mercy's lips drew away from her teeth, a gruesome smile plastered to her face. "Have fun while it lasts, Doc. Crash ain't gonna be around forever." Not if Mercy got her way. And Mercy always—with the exclusion of Spot's affection—got what she wanted.

Doc glared as Mercy left the small room, her gaze softening as she glanced down at Crash before shaking her head. Mercy was wrong. Doc didn't like Crash. She was following orders.

At least that's what she told herself as she went back to watching the wounded newboy.

.

Manhattan was tense.

It was on the fourth day after Blink had departed for West Side that Crow and Skipper showed up, greeted by a none-too-happy welcome party. Mush nearly growled at the sight of them, knowing they were from West Side immediately. They weren't from Brooklyn, and Brooklyn was the only other borough that typically visited Manhattan.

Approaching them first, Mush stood directly in front of Skipper. "Where is he?" the scrawnier boy demanded, causing Crow to roll her eyes and continue walking into the heart of Manhattan. She was there to speak with Jack Kelly, not some boy whose feelings were bruised over a missing friend.

Mush barely noticed that Crow had forged past him, still believing the larger newsboy was in charge. Skipper widened his eyes in confusion, glancing over Mush's head and watching as Crow walked further and further away. "Uh…look, buddy, I ain't really the one ya should be talkin' to…"

Mush shoved Skipper in the chest. "Oh yeah? Ya want me ta soak ya?" he threatened, although based on the size difference, Skipper would have no problem winning.

Skipper sighed, licking his lips and pointing over Mush's shoulder. "That goil is Crow. Ya'll have ta catch her ta get some answers." Skipper knew about as much as Crow did, but that didn't mean he wanted to bother with hashing the details out for some kid he didn't even know.

Mush whipped his head around and raised an eyebrow. He gave Skipper the one-over before darting after Crow, Skipper walking easily behind them. "Hey!" Mush shouted, grabbing Crow by the elbow.

Before Mush could utter another syllable, he had a fist buried in his gut. Wheezing, eyes wide, Mush stared up at Crow in confusion. Crow blinked. "Don't touch me," she ordered, turning back in the direction she was headed.

Skipper sighed, placing a large hand on Mush's back. "Walk it off," he advised, stepping around the jack-knifed newsie and lumbering after Crow.

Mush took a deep breath, straightening himself out and licking his lips, hissing in pain. The girl certainly packed a punch. He gulped, rubbing at his face with one hand, and slowly followed the pair of West Side residents as they traversed closer to the Lodging House. It was late in the afternoon, and it was a tossup between the diner and the newsboys' place of residence. Neither was far from the other, so it wouldn't take long to locate the rest of the Manhattan newsboys that were done selling papers for the day.

Crow, never the knocking sort, swung the door to the Lodging House open, not noticed at first, as none of the newsboys seemed interested in who had finished carrying the banner, and continued to gamble away what little they had.

Crow and Skipper stepped inside, warily looking around and planning last minute escape routes if necessary, when Skittery laid an eye on the duo. He smacked Racetrack, who began to complain until Skittery jutted a finger at the newcomers. Heads swiveled and eyes glued themselves in the direction of Crow and Skipper.

"We're looking for Jack Kelly," Crow informed the crowd, completely at ease with the hateful glints in the eyes of the newsboys.

Skipper shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing over his shoulder when Mush stumbled in, still slightly bent over from the hit he had taken. Mush's posture did not go unnoticed by the gaggle of newsies in the room, and it wasn't long before each and every Manhattan newsboy in the vicinity had their sights on Crow. And not in what could be considered a good way, either.

Crow continued to stand, unmoved by the future onslaught of rage that was surely on its way, and waited for someone to respond with the whereabouts of Jack.

Spark, an older boy that worked at the stables at Sheepshead, stood from his place next to Race. "Jack's with Davey right now, so it looks like you'se'll have ta wait around for a bit."

Crow raised an eyebrow at Spark, a face she didn't recognize. "Where are they?" she asked blandly.

Spark blinked his bright green eyes and nudged Race, who shook his head. "They'se'll be back in a bit."

Crow sighed, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "That's not good enough."

Racetrack let out a barking laugh. "Oh, it ain't good enough, is it?" he mocked, jauntily walking around the table and standing in front of Crow. "An' who are you'se ta say what is and ain't good enough?"

Crow blinked down at Race. "We're from West Side, and we're here to discuss some arrangements with Jack Kelly regarding the release of your friend with the eye-patch." She grinned down at the shorter newsie, blinking slowly.

Everything went silent.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is where I beg for reviews and promise that there will be more Spot in the next chapter, regardless of the fact that I don't have the next chapter planned out. :D


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